May Ghosts
by Sachita
Summary: No matter how beautiful a spring morning was, all that he could ever see were the dark storm clouds lurking just beneath the surface. Tom Riddle / Minerva McGonagall. For iviscrit.


_Hi everyone! _

_This is just a small oneshot for a person I haven't known for that long, but who I greatly admire and like, even across an entire ocean and two continents- Happy Birthday, dearest **iviscrit! **For the new year in your life I wish you all the very best, happiness, health and that all your wishes may come true! :-)  
_

_This is not overly long, but I truly hope you like it!  
_

_Best wishes,  
_

_Sachita  
_

_P.S.: I do apologise for any strange wording- English is not my first language :)  
_

* * *

**May Ghosts**

The morning was perfect. Clear blue skies were dawning just beyond the horizon, while the night slowly faded against a scatter of a black flock of birds rising before the thin bond of a red sunset. The branches of majestic trees barely stirred up the placid water of the lake whose endless widths had already reached the blood-red morning, dark waters gently lapping against the clouds on the far horizon as the sun rose higher.

The birds' squawks were shrill, filled with restless anxiety as they heralded a new dawn.

Just then, a swift breeze sprung up that combed through the ebony hair of the boy standing at the edge of the lake.

Calm and composed, as if the reality of this world meant very little to him, he gazed at the waters of the lake like an Emperor gazes at his realm. What indeed did he see with those aloof midnight eyes?

An army, raised by unspeakable Gods of Old from the waters itself, as hideous as death itself and as terribly beautiful as this blood morning? Were the innocent clouds flocking by the sun no innocents at all but spectres let loose by an invisible force, clawing at the sun-god's ship as it rose higher, striving to draw it back in the inky depths of the night? And endless night, thought of even as the stars were fading on the horizon, mere pale lights, nearly invisible- just like the dark tides rolling through the boy's eyes, so hideous and terribly furious, concealed just beneath that flawless visage.

Beautiful and hideous, such a juxtaposition, yet the boy seemed to bear the implications of that statement with grace and a cruel sneer hidden just beneath his carefully neutral expression.

"A contradiction," a voice quietly said.

The boy had closed his eyes but at the sound of the voice he slowly opened them again and just as slowly turned his head to face a girl of his age, every movement deliberate.

She was a thin-lipped slim girl with hair just as dark as his, pale cheeks reddened in the morning chill, a few hair dancing astray around her finely-boned face.

A sombre girl, yet a hint of laughter lurked in her eyes, a tribute to her strong and good sense of humour.

At the boy's inquiring look, she repeated just as quietly: "You are a contradiction, Tom. Although I do feel honoured that you shared your thoughts about the morning with me."

Tom, the boy, laughed softly, a laugh that held in its dark sound a quiet warning. "Magic is a curious thing, is it not? Full of conundrums and there is nothing more curious than mind telepathy. But tell me, Minerva, knowing my nature, how can you remain here?"

Minerva smiled a fine smile. "I am waiting here for the day to arrive," she said simply, at once replying to his question and at the same time not doing so, a trait of hers that he had always found irritating.

"It's going to be a beautiful day."

He favoured her with a belittling smile. "It's going to rain," he replied quietly, indicating the storm clouds gathering at the horizon, quickly chasing the clear skies away.

"There is going to be a storm, even. Still thinking about staying here?"

Minerva smiled, this time patiently, her smile strangely older than her youth would suggest, and even as he scowled, her smile only intensified, the love in it overpowering the whiff of sadness that accompanied it.

"I do not mind storms, Tom, and neither do I mind rain. Who knows, maybe tomorrow the sun shall shine and we shall sit here and converse, even if is only that notion that comforts me. Maybe I am clinging to old times that have long-since scattered to the winds."

Tom saw in dismay that her smile was fading.

"No, no," he protested earnestly, "we shall do that, Minerva. We shall do that. Now and every other day."

"Then we shall," Minerva echoed and her smile was dazzling, in spite of the winds that now tore at their hair and the glittering missiles of wetness that were being hurled from the sky.

"We shall," Tom repeated quietly to himself, and, leaning against a tree, watched with a sense of disbelieving yet happy wonderment as Minerva laughed and twirled through the rain, over and over again…

The sun had risen fully now and cast its resplendent glory over the calming waves of the lake. The raindrops ceased to fall and slowly the birds quieted down, while the trees stopped stirring at the edge of the lake. It was empty and no-one was in sight for miles, but on the small breeze that had sprung up once more, floated by, ghost-like, the sound of distant laughter.

-FIN-


End file.
